With family members growing older, some of them already dead, life becomes unbalanced. There are finite limits to time and energy, but infinite obligations regarding relationships, the family network, and one’s own desires to wrap up loose ends…to always act in love. And then far earlier than expected, the time runs out while one is not at the moment paying attention.
All our winters spent—
How can only days remain
in which to love you?
— Copyright © 7 June 2012 by E.W. Bennefeld. Reposted from PatchworkProse.